It added to her worry. Death lingered on her threefold, a fulfillment of a warning whispered in her ear should she refuse to kill her husband. Someone had smothered the midwife.
Second, the death echoed eerily in her recent illness. She’d been poisoned. ’Twas obvious that Adrien suspected the same, for why else had he ordered for her only bland food with no seasonings, prepared only by trustworthy servants?
She rose from her place by Adrien’s side and paced the small chamber. This third attack hit her the hardest. It pointed to the danger against Adrien whether or not she acted. He had fought against the assailant but not without injury. Would he be so fortunate next time?
“Ediva?”
She hurried to his side. “Are you in pain?”
“Nay. Ediva, I fear you have filled me so full of willow bark tea, I shall not feel pain for a year.”
“I didn’t want you to suffer.”
“I’m a soldier. I can take a bloody nose.”
She stiffened. “’Twas not a bloody nose you suffered, sir!”
He threw off the fur she’d covered over him and sat up. His attention immediately went to his wound. Ediva had carefully reapplied the honey salve enough to know that it was healing nicely.
“Will you remove my stitches when it is time?” he asked.
She swallowed. “I shall try.”
“Until you faint?”
“I didn’t faint before,” she sniffed. “I was shocked by your wound, ’tis all.”
With a soft chuckle, he swung the leg over, sat on the edge of his pallet and looked down. During his time unconscious, she’d ordered a bed spring made and his men had lifted the pallet onto it. “I see I have a new bed.”
“Aye. The bending down was torture on my back.” She reached for him suddenly. “Nay, don’t stand!”
“I’ve been abed long enough. I’ll be fine. See, the wound is still sealed and I have weight on that leg.”
She tugged on his tunic to cover his bare legs. Shaking her head, she added, “Very well. But we need to keep the wound tightly wrapped if you are going to march around the bailey like nothing’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing is wrong with me, and I need to show the men here that a small cut can’t best me.”
She crossed her arms, disliking the way her heart thumped hard in her chest at the thought of her husband’s valor. “Since I can’t change your mind, I should leave you alone to get dressed and be about the bailey.”
* * *
Adrien, fully clothed and outside a short time later, turned to find Ediva at his side. He’d sent her to her solar, but he’d no sooner spoken to a few soldiers, than she reappeared.
“I can’t rest,” she explained when he looked pointedly at her. “I have rested too well these past few days.”
“Liar,” he admonished softly. “Very well. Where’s Geoffrey? We should offer our condolences.”
“He’s in his mother’s hut. I’ve given him leave, and he agreed to postpone her funeral until you were up.” She paused and seemed about to speak again but stopped.
“Is there something more?” he asked, trying out the sloping land beyond the bailey gate. He’d already managed the motte steps well enough.
“What I have to say can wait, but, Adrien, we will need to talk as soon as possible.”
Probably about the attack in the forest, he thought. All that was needed now, though, was to bury the midwife and send a message to his brother that he needed the men back for the harvest.
They reached the midwife’s house shortly, and Adrien hesitated at the garden gate. Herbs grew wildly about, so many varieties in strange pots or tucked under trees. One even grew in a shallow pan of water.
“Such a shame,” Ediva whispered. “The garden was perfect for her. She knew exactly what each herb needed to grow strong.”
A shame, indeed. The midwife had been murdered. He’d noticed that at the same time his sergeant had, although the man had said nothing. Her neck had been marked with bruises. They weren’t harsh enough to stand out, but her eyes had popped open and her lips had been blue. ’Twas not a natural death. He needed to see his sergeant and order him not to mention it to Ediva. She may connect the midwife’s murder with her illness.
Had someone stolen some foul herbs and given them to Ediva, then murdered the midwife when she discovered her loss? Had she confronted whoever it was who’d been in her garden? Anyone could have slipped in and taken anything, for the garden was not fenced in.
Adrien took Ediva’s arm and knocked on the jamb of the open door. They found Geoffrey gathering things in the kitchen, between the cold hearth and the small casket.
Ediva was the first to offer condolences. He nodded. Then Adrien did the same, but Geoffrey gave him only the barest nod. “I will bring the herbs she’d already dried to the larder,” he said. “The cook will be able to dispense most of them. Several of the tenants have offered to help me bury her.”
“Take whoever you think is best,” Ediva said softly. “Mayhap the soldiers can help.”
“Nay, milady. We Saxons bury our own, and her neighbor has been very helpful.”
Adrien nodded. The man next door was one of the few landowners in the village and had sat in the hasty jury Adrien had assembled for Olin’s case. Older, with a constant sour expression but a steadfast reliability, the man would be valuable to Geoffrey.
“Excuse me, please.” The steward bowed to Ediva and Adrien and left them alone in the hut for a moment.
“We have no midwife,” Ediva noted. “And we’d been spoiled too long with such a good one. She trained no one to take her place. I hope she kept a journal of her dispensing, but I doubt it. Her skills were more to herbs, not reading and writing.”
Adrien grimaced. “I’ll ask Eudo if there is anyone in Colchester willing to come to the keep for this work.” His grimace deepened. He’d have to spare several good men for such a missive—he would not risk sending one man alone. Fast horses also, to blaze through the woodlands too quickly for any Saxon churl who may want to ambush them.
They returned to the keep and Adrien agreed that a rest would be in order. Alone in his chamber, he wrote out a missive to his brother and ordered the sergeant to find the fastest men and good steeds to carry it there.
Normally, he’d wait a while for a replacement to come from the village itself or allow the villagers to find one on their own. ’Twas a small village and none were sick. But with Ediva already ill once, he would take no chances on being without a healer.
No chances.
Chapter Seventeen
Ediva listened to her maid quietly sob throughout the funeral the next day. The chaplain offered brief prayers, but Ediva wondered if mayhap the old man was thankful the woman was gone. The chaplain had had several altercations over the years with the midwife. Her crafty ways and secrecy often made the chaplain suspicious.
Immediately, she reprimanded herself. ’Twas unfair to judge people, especially when she had been so cruel in her own thoughts.
She stole a glance at Adrien. What kind of advice would he offer?
As if hearing her private question, he took her hand in his. Her heart swelled at his strength, his stamina, the rough feel of calluses scraping her knuckles. He was healing faster each day. Today there was no limping and she’d loosened the bandage more this morning, allowing the air to reach the cut. In a few more days, the stitches could come out.
But until this moment, he’d kept his distance from her. He’d seemed on edge, too much for her to wish to trouble him with the story of her attacker. There was no time for such things, or even for the mild flirtations they’d formerly exchanged. Oddly, she missed the light banter.
Before long, the funeral was over and the villagers and tenants gathered in the keep for refreshments. Adrien stayed onl
y a brief time before announcing he needed some air.
She found him on the parapet, staring out at the woods, deep in thought.
Ediva noted the frown that creased Adrien’s brow when he scanned the edge of the forest. Was he looking for a sign of the messengers he’d sent to his brother?
She slipped up beside him. A light wind buffeted his long tunic. “You’re concerned for your men?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “The forest is filled with churls who defy William’s curfew. And we have not found the first courier who went missing.”
“We will see the men soon enough, perhaps they will be more successful than the other men sent out.” When he didn’t answer, she wondered when the best time to approach him about her experience was. Together they could discover if the attack on him was connected to the attack on her. Was it all related to the fact she hadn’t bowed to her attacker’s demands?
Until this moment, she’d had the luxury of time, doting on her husband to the exclusion of all other thought. She hadn’t left his side, except to gather herbs or berries and, even then, she’d posted a guard on his chamber. She’d allowed him only the privacy he needed to attend to his routine.
Now, she had no other tasks. If the midwife had died as part of the threat against her, she needed to speak up. What would Adrien do? He’d be furious, and mayhap see her secrecy as traitorous.
The thought gripped her stomach and she regretted holding her tongue. She would not kill her husband. But if she didn’t, she’d become a traitor to her own people. It had been one thing when the threat was merely words spoken. But now the midwife was dead. Had her attacker shown himself willing to follow through on his threats? Perhaps he had offered clues in his words as to who he might attack next. Fear had clamped not only her throat that day, but also her memory. She struggled to remember that man’s awful words.
But all she could recall was that he’d said something about her being the only one to get close to Adrien.
She thought of her illness, most likely a poisoning. That day, she’d eaten nearly all of Adrien’s meal and hers. Mayhap her attacker had tried to kill Adrien but failed.
She felt her insides go icy cold.
“You looked furious, then fearful, Ediva. What are you thinking?”
She glanced up, surprised. Aye, she told herself sharply, she’d been reluctant to speak and still was.
Lord God, give me strength.
Adrien took her hand and kissed it. “I should like to hear your thoughts.”
She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. He’d turn Dunmow Keep into a fortress. Then her assailant would surely attack again, knowing she’d told Adrien what he’d done to her. Who would he choose?
She shook her head, ignoring her sweaty palms and pounding heart. “’Tis nothing. In fact, it’s left my head, already.”
They stood in silence as the sun dipped lazily below the horizon. All the while Adrien watched the road to Colchester. “You need to rest,” she finally said. “You have been standing on that leg all day.”
With an indrawn breath that seemed to savor the cooling air, he nodded. “Walk with me to my room.”
There had been no banter to make her smile, and longing for it rolled over her.
Nay! Don’t think of your own foolish heart, woman. There is too much danger about. With an unsure smile, she took his arm and with gentleness and a hint of gallantry, he folded her hand into the crook of his elbow. They made their way carefully down to his room.
Only when he’d said good-night, and she’d pretended to walk away, did he finally close his door. Upon hearing it shut, she spun. She sought out the sergeant and ordered him to put a guard on his lord’s door.
The sergeant nodded, and she started up the stairs but turned. “Sergeant,” she began after a thought. “Have you seen the small, wiry dog anywhere?”
“There are several around, milady. Has one bothered you?”
She nodded. “I know ’tis hard to remove them all, but should they become nasty, we need to be rid of them.”
“Aye, milady. The only good they do is bark out warnings.”
She bit her lip. Warnings? That dog usually ignored her, but had it seen her assailant behind her and tried to warn her?
She bid the man good-night, feeling even more unsettled. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs, happy that the torches had been replaced. Both the chandler and her steward had been warned, but she was grateful that her maid waited for her in her solar.
* * *
Whilst a not-as-pale Ediva examined his wound the next day, Adrien gritted his teeth and sent up a prayer for faster healing. The pain was no longer sharp, but the muscle had been cut and he hated to keep still whilst it healed. ’Twould take longer to build it up again.
But a small commotion outside curtailed the examination. They hurried out to see who it was. The men he’d sent to Eudo had returned with a letter. The leader of the messengers handed over his missive in the Great Hall. “My lord, I bring you Baron Eudo’s greetings.”
Adrien unfolded the letter.
My brother, I greet you in the name of our Lord. I am saddened to hear of your injury. We’re still searching for the missing soldier, but I fear the worst. Saxons who oppose the king will do anything to drive us from this land. Beware, Adrien. If a Saxon wants you dead, he may not care who he kills first. Lady Ediva could easily die, too, being seen as a traitor. And keeping your tenants here adds to their hatred, I fear. The rebels may see them as slaves, not hired men. So I’ll keep the men only as long as necessary. The work of moving rock is nearly complete.
I’ll also see to a replacement for your midwife. A good apothecary will help, but I can’t guarantee that one would come. The guilds in this town are tightly knit. They asked for me to allow them control over their own people and I granted it, so they may not wish to send anyone.
Keep on guard. Your brother in Christ and in blood, Eudo.
Adrien crushed the letter into a ball and shoved it deep into his tunic’s pocket. Thankfully, the words were written in French and only Ediva would be able to read it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He led her inside. “Nothing. Eudo says that he’ll return the tenants soon.”
“That’s good news. So why are you frowning?”
“He says he’ll ask the guilds for someone to send here as midwife but fears no one will want to come. Eudo granted the guilds a measure of autonomy over themselves.”
“No doubt your brother will use his charm.”
Adrien sighed. At least Ediva believed his distress was due to the fact that they may not acquire a midwife. She must not know the truth. She already knew that the woods were dangerous but not to the extent that her life was at risk.
He needed his wits about him. He needed to be vigilant for Ediva’s sake. Should something happen to her, he would surely die also.
To that end, Adrien’s decided as he watched Ediva wrap a fresh bandage about his leg that he needed to stop wooing his wife and focus on her safety. He dared not be distracted. Yet, hadn’t he already realized that since he had been hurt?
Still, she was softening toward him and a powerful moment of temptation rolled over him. He wondered how much more would it take for her to fully accept him.
Nay, ’twould not be wise. He would be gone soon enough to battle at Ely. He dared not risk turning the sensible wife he had into a love-softened woman who’d too easily let down her guard. She needed to remain alert. His sisters had been besotted with their husbands and he’d see how carelessly they wandered about in those romantic early months of marriage.
The moment the bandage was tied, he stood. “’Tis healing well. It feels as if I was never cut.”
She scoffed lightly. “I doubt that, but I think I can remove your stitches without feeling ill.”
“In a day or two, perhaps. Now, I must attend to my duties—and you must see to yours.”
Her brows lifted, she said, “The wound’s still mending and you keep moving the muscle. Let me stay and tend to you.”
“My prayers and your ministrations have worked well. Now, your duties are sorely in need of you.” He had no desire to be brusque. Indeed, the memories of the kisses they’d shared squeezed his heart, but neither of them could afford such indulgences.
Ediva stepped away, and with a look more hurt than agreeable, she left to supervise the noon meal.
* * *
She didn’t stop at the kitchen. Instead, Ediva fled through to the garden. She dropped onto the stone bench where the cook often sat to peel the vegetables. Since Adrien had ordered all waste, peelings included, to be thrown in the heap at the other side of the keep, the small garden had taken on a fresh air. A maid had been assigned to weed it, and the scents of summer greens and blooming violets soothed Ediva’s battered nerves.
She sat back, her head pressed against the stone wall. Though the sun warmed and soothed her weary body, but her heart remained troubled. Why was Adrien so gruff?
Because he was anxious to get her tenants back so that he may march to Ely to fight alongside the king?
The only good the war did was make her a widow. And she did not wish for Adrien to die.
Her throat tightened. Her eyes watered and loosened their hold on her tears.
A shout cut through the quiet garden, followed by a dog barking and the thundering of hooves. Ediva jerked forward. Could it be the tenants returning? She hurried around the keep and onto the small patch of green motte that allowed her a clear view of the bailey below.
Norman soldiers were galloping into the keep, barely missing Rypan, who’d opened the gate. The standard they flew was the king’s, but she’d already met the king, and knew these men were merely on Eudo’s business.
Bound to the Warrior Page 18
